Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Romance
Fantasy
Supernatural
Modern

Genre You DON'T Like:

Mecha

Every day 150,000 people die; 56 million every year. The use of technology, developing medicine and education has gone far in lowering that number every decade, but what happens when the dead starts walking?

Six years ago American citizens heard of a few isolated incidents across Africa where a man would grow sick with a fever and die within a few days - fairly normal, why was this newsworthy? The part that makes it newsworthy and inspired countless teenage pranks, was that these men would get up after their death, exactly six days later. These incidents numbered in six, each exactly 13 months apart; little did we know how large of a problem it was going to become. In the last year every known government agency and military chain of command has gone down, with few operating as they were meant to. Billions of people have died and the walking dead continue to slaughter.

It's been less than a year since our group came together, bound by survival, and lacking many of the tools they will need to survive. Trouble is brewing and winter is approaching, as well the group is tired of running. They need a place to stay, but no where seems safe; will they find it?

Listed below is my list of personal rules I expect everyone to follow them without argument. If you believe something s unfair, then please PM me about it. If you cause a scene over it in OOC or IC then I will be forced to remove you from the group. If you fail to comply after repeated warnings, then I will, without hesitation, kill your character - all of them - in the most gruesome way possible.

1) Follow all Iwaku Rules and Regulations

2) There will be no metagaming. Period.

3) Be realistic; no auto-dodging, auto-hitting, or any of the like. Equipment and stashes should also be realistic.

4) Mature themes allowed, including gore, violence and swearing but not further than a little bit of touching during smut or you'll be attacked by a random horde of zombies.

5) I am, under all circumstances, the boss and everything must be brought to me first.

Appearance - preferably a real life photo, but art s fine too
//Quote by or about them//

Name: Should match their nationalityAge: 11-whatever. Let's face it, children wouldn't survive long on little food and water without their mothers and others to take care of them.Sex:
Sexual orientation: (Optional)

Allergies:
Scars/Tattoos:
Old Injuries: The only really relevant things are the ones that still effect how they move and function now.

Skills:
Equipment: Weapons, ammunition, food and clothing they have on them. Try not to go overboard; it's a year after the collapse, so unless they hit a bunch of massive stores, they won't have much in the way of guns.

Personality:
Biography:

Extras

---

Group transportation is something that concerns many players and their characters, and thus for our purposes, I have selected a few vehicles for them to be driving in their travels.

An older RV, owned by a man who is no longer among the living, but has been given Mercy. It has 3 available beds, storage space and is the groups primary transportation. When in need or repairs, they fix it instead of abandoning it.

A big black truck they picked up along the way. It can carry four passengers with the driver inside of the cab, and the bed is used mostly for transporting their gear.

Personality: Xiaomei does not express emotion often. Most of the time, her facial expression says "I am not impressed." Instead, she expresses herself through her many creations. She has a certain snobbishness when it comes to what passes for aesthetics and design in the modern world. So much so that as much as possible, she avoids normal mass-produced clothing, possessions, etc. and tries to live in a world of her own creation (and that of other DIY/Maker types like herself). She's generally standoffish, knowing full well that people think she's weird. After Z-Day, she has tried to become more sociable since she believes that now more than ever, people need to bloody cooperate already, but she also finds it hard to trust, because it seems too many people think the Hobbesian/Darwinian route is the way to go.

Xiaomei loves to learn new skills, especially if they involve creating needed goods and services. Skills are trade goods that no one can take away.

Fears:

Ugliness: Xiaomei has something akin to a mental allergy to ugliness. Just going around in an average modern city or suburb pre-Z was like having to listen to constant loud fingernails-on-chalkboard. Before everything went to crap. She fears that now, she may end up spending the rest of her life wearing filthy, scavenged rags of clothes that were sloppy and ugly even when they were brand new, surrounded by a world turned to broken-down walking-corpse-infested garbage in which nothing of beauty survives. She intends to stave off that fate as long as possible, even if that means her actions, choices of equipment, etc. are not entirely practical.

Turning into a Zed.

Turning into the kind of person who can kill other human beings or indifferently watch them suffer without qualms; the whole "you have to become a barbarian to survive in a hard world" thing. Also, the social equivalent: that if the Zeds don't win, human brutes will, and what's left of humanity will be thrown back into a vicious Dark Age, or worse.

Losing the Imladris (see below)

Guns. She's never liked them, and now they (in the hands of the wrong sort of people) are a bigger threat than the zombies.

History:

Xiaomei's parents were high-flying Chinese businesspeople in Hong Kong, and she grew up hating the push-push-push, faster-faster-faster, more-more-more lifestyle they led (and tried to teach her to lead) in the insatiable quest for Success. As soon as she got the chance, she left for the US on a student visa (ostensibly to study business), then switched her major to sustainable design, with minors in art and fashion design. After school, she traveled around, making her living creating and selling costumes, armor, and gear at renaissance fairs, steampunk festivals, science fiction and fantasy conventions, as well as selling her wares over the internet. For this, her parents disowned her.

Xiaomei had long been expecting Collapse to come; many of her life choices had revolved around preparing for it. In her view, the endless exponential growth financial-industrial capitalism required to survive was mathematically impossible on a finite planet. Over several years, she created the Imladris as a home so she could live and travel sustainably off-grid. Before Z-Day, she often chided the "apocalyptic" Doomer types on her blog. In reality (or so she often said), the decline and fall of a civilization is a long, painful, bumpy process that takes place over one or more centuries. The people who were expecting and preparing for an instant, total financial collapse or a "zombie apocalypse" would find themselves SOL when reality served up gradual worsening of circumstances punctuated by the stair-step tumbles of the occasional Greater Depression or world war until humanity's descendants found themselves herding sheep under crumbling overpasses, rather than a situation where a bunker stuffed with guns, gold, and canned beans would ever prove useful.

Xiaomei has had to eat those words--or would have had to, if there was still an internet.

The Imladris, a "transforming castle truck" that looks and functions a lot like this, but with more Art Nouveau and Celtic design elements. It has a Cyclone steam engine that runs on just about any fuel. Before the Z-pocalypse, it used biodiesel Xiaomei made from french fry grease or vegetable oil (these are obviously becoming much harder to lay hands on in quantity). Imladris took her years to create, contains her workshop, tools, books, and supplies, and she values it very highly.

Historical European Martial Arts (German and Italian style longsword combat)
Sewing, leather working, metal working, wood working, bicycle maintenance, some permaculture. Basic electronics (enough to wire up a solar power system, hook up lights and switches and the like). She also brewed her first batch of peach mead just before the zombies came.

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Romance
Fantasy
Supernatural
Modern

Genre You DON'T Like:

Mecha

I have updated both the rules and the character sheet above if you would all take a look at them and adjust your characters; I have yet to see a character I would like to accept.

Allergies:Berries (all of them)Scars/Tattoos: like the picture above, she has a tattoo on her right collarbone of three little bats. A small scar is visible in the right light on the bottom of her chin where she busted it open at a summer pool party showing off as a kid. If you ever catch Soren wearing shorts, you will see a variety of small criss cross scars on both of her outer thighs where she used to self-harm.Old Injuries: When she was about 18, she got into a vicious fight and broke her wrist. Occasionally, it still aches in bad weather or strenuous use.

Skills: Standing at 5'2" and 120 pounds the best skill Soren has is a quick reflex time and a knack for hiding. She enjoys climbing things as well, and with her somewhat athletic build, she has a dexterity for it. She also is a classical violinist.Equipment: Soren has two prize possesions: a 13.5" brass knuckle bowie knife, and a very old violin that somehow still works which she keeps in her backpack-style violin case. She also holds a variety of a few other small things in the outer pockets on the case. Such as, rosin for her violin bow, a small pack of extra strings she managed to snag by some small miracle, a pack of cigarettes, a dented lighter, a wrist brace she found, a tin water bottle, and a shark tooth necklace. She also keeps a small tarp to use as a tent, and a small over the shoulder bag with some knitting supplies she picked up from an empty house. You can mostly find her wearing a pair of grey wash, ripped skinny jeans, a loosely fit knit sweater over a dirty white tanktop, and a pair of beat up black converse.

Personality: There is one thing that Soren has always been known for, and that is a quiet sort of melancholy that she's held all her life, though she's far from shy. She's always known that she was somewhat different from other people her age. After all, normal kids listened to pop and rock not Beethoven, Mozart, and Chopin. She's an observer by nature and likes to stand off to the side but she also has a deep fear of being alone. For a small woman, she talks a big game and has a temper to match. If there is anything she does best, it is comfort. Being no stranger to depression herself, she does her best to always help those when down. Her two methods of choice when cheering others up are sarcastic humor and music. If all else fails, she'll just hand you a cigarette. Her biggest character flaw is being loyal to the point of recklessness. She will go tearing into a fight unarmed, to protect those she loves. Soren is prone to mood swings and depression herself, but she tends to bottle everything up inside.

Biography:
Soren was born in a small town in Texas. The town she grew up in was one of those kinds where the most prominent building was a church and there were about three stoplights. If you blinked you might miss it. Nonetheless, it was a vibrant community that celebrated it's youth. Soren never knew her mother. As soon as she was a few weeks old, her father later told her, her mother waltz out the door and never came back. Though her single father, Spencer, was loving and supportive of his only daughter, the community was not. Small towns, though close knit, have a habit of shunning people who don't quite fit in with their perfect ideals of family. Soren's family definitely did not fit in with that ideal.
As far back as she can remember, her father worked as the only church's only janitor. Every Sunday she and her father would walk to the warehouse-style building that housed the church. They would come early and stay late and as her father would clean and polish the communion dishes, dust the pews, and sweep the floors, she would sing songs to him. Long before the people became non-people Soren became acquainted with the cruelties of the world .She was only 5 years old when the preachers pre-teen son invited her to play "house". Soren had no friends and thus it was exciting to be invited to do something besides play pretend with her father. She agreed and in the dark of his garage she found heartache as she was ambushed and abused again and again not only by the preacher's son, but several of his friends.
Unfortunately, that was simply where her problems began. It was well into middle school before she'd even fully understand what the word "rape" meant. Going into school, Soren quickly learned that she was "different". At least, that's what the other kids called her in their whispers. They would call her dust man's daughter under their breath and avoid her "dusty touch". She became very somber very quickly, but every Sunday she would still sing to her father. In her final year of elementary school, Spencer Parker, gave Soren the gift of her life. Though the year had been a particularly hard one for the financially struggling single father, he had saved as much money as he could and for Christmas he bought her a violin and a practice book. Nevermind that it was adult sized, or that the bow strings were frayed. She quickly took to that instrument like a bird to flying. Sundays she traded singing for playing songs to her father and for a while, she was once again happy. It didn't last long.
Per small towns, the middle and high schools shared the same building. As she began middle school, she was forced to see her childhood attackers not just every Sunday, but now every weekday. She was bullied daily. One day, during one of her latter days of middle school, the inevitable got out. During a particularly awful school lunch in November, she made the mistake of walking next to the table where the preacher's son and his friends and girlfriend sat. Suddenly, as she looked down at the beef and potato stew on her plate, she felt a foreign object get caught in between her feet and she fell forward onto the floor and face-first into her plate. Getting up, she wiped beef stew out of her eyes to see what she had tripped over. In the middle of the floor, now splattered with beef broth and applesauce, was a rhinestone studded pink backpack.
"Eww! You little freak! You got food all over my backpack!" She'd made the mistake of her life, she realized as she saw the preacher's son's girlfriend fuming over her. In an instant she was back on the floor as she was shoved hard by the blonde cheerleader that was the girlfriend. "Don't worry honey, I'll buy you a new one" Came the smooth voice of her childhood attacker as he slide over to her side and gazed hatefully down at Soren. "Don't want you getting dust touch from dust girl here." She heard the whole cafeteria laugh. "Did you know she once tried to come onto me?" Blondie's eyes widened. "Yeah right. This little tramp? Like she'd ever have a chance with you." Cheeks burning, Soren stood up. She had never stood up to anybody before. But hearing that slimeball say that SHE had come onto HIM? It was too much. "Came onto you? I was 5! You raped me!" She shouted in his face. WHAM.
She woke up in the nurse's office with a black eye, swollen shut and Spencer leaning over her. She had been suspended from school for "picking a fight with the preacher's son and his daughter". Nevermind the real story. No one would ever believe her anyway. What made it worse is that because of the altercation, her father's job was put into question. Though Spencer was sympathetic, he'd never learn the truth of the fight and to save the integrity of her father's job she had to grit her teeth and apologize. When she was let back into school she simply put her head down and kept to herself. She turned to self harm through the rest of her school experience.
When she was 17, Soren's life once again changed forever when one day a 5 year old boy showed up on their doorstep. He had her mother's eyes and came with a note. "Didn't want him. He's yours now. Have fun." Attached to the simple note was 20 dollars and a coupon for toothpaste. The boy's name was Alex and soon he became Soren's whole world. He was bright and bubbly, and his smile was the most contagious disease in the world. Yet again, the town didn't understand. Though her father was getting older, he still cleaned the church every week to make ends meet for his now two children. Soren took on a job at a gas station on the edge of town and endured greasy trucker stares to help take care of Alex and even bought him a skateboard.
One day, some time after Soren's 18th birthday, she came home from work to find her baby brother crying outside their dingy house. His elbows were scraped and bleeding and he had sticks in his hair. When Soren asked him what was wrong he pointed across the street where the preacher's son was hanging out with his friends and he had a skateboard in hand that looked suspiciously like Alex's. "Did he take your skateboard, bug?" anger was behind her eyes. "Yes, Sowen. He pushed me off of it. He says I have "dust touch" what does that mean?" Bullying her was one thing, but her baby brother? For the second time in her life, Soren felt anger flood into her backbone. She marched across the road and demanded the skateboard back. The guys just laughed at her. "What skateboard? This is mine." Preacher's son taunted her.
In that moment, everything within her broke. This boy had taken her childhood, her dignity, her reputation, AND her baby brother's happiness. She flew onto the boy and tackled him to the ground. She punched him in the face. Hard. She punched him again. She kept punching him, seeing red, until she felt something in her wrist give and she was pulled off of the bloody mess that was beneath her.
That very week she was sent away to an aunt she had never heard of or met who lived on the west coast. She stayed there, playing her violin and working a part time job for 2 years. As soon as things started to go bad she left, going on foot to find her brother and father. After all, she was an adult now and they couldn't keep her here forever.
The first dead person she came across was in a gas station outside the town where her aunt was from. It was a pizza delivery kid. One of his eyes had popped out of it's socket. Running from it, she climbed a nearby tree and hid until someone else came along and it's attention was diverted.
Was she really all that surprised? No. The world was crap anyways.

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Romance
Fantasy
Supernatural
Modern

Genre You DON'T Like:

Mecha

Anastasia Vivian LeBrouche​

Has anyone ever taken the time to look at what's going on? I'm sure with a little bit of time we can figure something out without a problem.

AgeTen and Eight years of age Plus seven months, three days, nine hours, seven minutes and approximately thirty-two seconds

SizeFive foot, three inches , one centimeter and three militeters.One hundred and fifteen pounds Actually, it’s one hundred and nineteen point seven-eight, pounds.

Physical ShapeBefore the beginning of the end, Anastasia was small and thin, with little real muscle to speak of and for the most part she has retained the same mass with little fluctuation. She has little body fat after the span of time and has gained just enough muscle in her arms and legs for the constant activity that she finds herself in every day. She has a flat stomach and slight curves that are still in the process of developing; long limbs and a medium length torso, long fingers. She has a slight limp as well, from breaking her leg and it not healing quite right.

I can run and jump just like everyone else, just don’t ask me to do it a whole bunch or I’ll end up dead like them. Then where would you be without the living Encyclopedia?

Scars/TattoosFrom her waist down to her calf there is a long and twisted scar, ragged and ridged from what could have been anything from a steel bean to a sicko with a knife. Compared to the natural paleness of her skin, the scar is an angry red, with patches of what appears to be grey and black near the edges of the scar tissue. From this long scar branch a few others, one of which is placed on her kneecap; the skin is fractured and the same grey, as if it's dead, and rough where the bone never set properly. Along the right side of her collarbone, there are several clean lines of pure silver that match those on her upper thighs and forearms.

Old InjuriesFrom the crash before the apocalypse, her leg never healed properly and thus affects her ability to walk straight. She limps quite often when she walks, and when the weather is wet or cold, she sometimes lacks the ability to walk at all, and at these times she and the rest of the group stay hidden until then. On days when her leg can hold her but troubles her, she uses a pair of crutches to walk, hidden in the center of the group.

It's good that we drive most places eh?

SkillsThe things that people are proud of, are often that which they have spent the time to perfect. Anastasia has spent so little time on perfecting any single thing, that until after the apocalypse she had not even tried to figure out any single craft until the passed 13 months. Her aim is impeccable, but it is her ability to make quick calculations and observe the entirety of what is going on around her that makes her dangerous. Her hands are deft, and her precision when sewing and repairing is just as neat as her talent of calligraphy. Her truest talent and skill though, is her capacity to learn at an astonishing rate. She is a perfectionist, and as such there is little that she will not at the very least attempt not to finish.

AllergiesThere is little that Anastasia has tried and without a doubt, knows she is allergic to and one of those is the degree of sunlight she may take upon herself. Being in broad daylight with constant direct contact, gives the girl hives; covering her skin and shading her face does help greatly, though she burns easily as well and stays that way for a while. Clouded days are the best for her, and she suffers from no repercussions of walking about during the daylight hours with clouded skies.

PersonalityIt’s clear to say that Anastasia is a bit of a smart-alec and a huge know-it-all. She’s spent every waking moment of her life gathering an extensive collection of knowledge inside of her head and she’s very proud of it, even if she doesn’t know exactly what to do with that knowledge half of the time. She’s a thinker, and will often rather spend her time puzzling over a problem than jumping into the action like many others do; instead she finds the best way to go about it first – before getting someone else to do it. Anna likes to play yhr back row and remain unnoticed by others until it’s a time when she can shine and put forth what she knows and put it to good use – she has demonstrated this before. Regardless of her love of learning she is never satisfied with what she knows and constantly goes on the search for something new to set her sights on, sometimes leading herself into dangerous areas and rumours, she is also shy and tends to refrain from greatly impacting her own emotions with the bonds of humanity. Unfortunately, she gets attached to those she likes and never wants to let them go either. She is capable of great compassion and loyalty, if one does earn her trust, and often spends her time in groups tending to the injured or avoiding confrontation all together.

OccupationLibrarian’s Assistant and Medical Student

EquipmentMostly, Anastasia finds herself dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, suited for easy movement though not restricting or getting in the way; a short sleeve shirt from the assortment of shirts she’s found or taken, primarily she likes to wear a plain grey shirt that is a little loose on her; her choice of footwear is a pair of worn sneakers she’s has since before the disaster, she hopes she’ll be able to find a pair of fitting boots before winter; a warn black zip up sweater, grey fuzz on the inside.

InventoryIn a traditional, three main pocket school backpack she keeps a utility knife, notebook for observations, three pens – one black, one blue, one purple – and a hair brush. Most items she keep on her rotate with the need as she rarely leaves the library and often keeps her things in the space she sleeps inside of. In the smallest of the pockets she keeps a picture of her mother, held inside of a black leather, men’s wallet she puts money she finds inside of. A box of matches sits in a plastic bag inside of the biggest pocket, closest to her back, just on top of the fabric grocery bag. As far as food goes she always keeps a bottle of water on her at all times, and at least two granola bars from what she has kept inside.
Really though, I don’t go anywhere. People come to me when they need something and they bring me stuff.

WeaponsAnastasia isn’t one for combat and prefers to stay out of the fray in such a way that she’s taken to using a slingshot and math to take down the enemies that she absolutely has to be rid of. She keeps usually about five or six steel ball barrings in a small pouch in her sweater pocket though prefers to use rocks and bits of rubble that work well enough and still fly the same. As well she has a staff – more just a study piece of wood – that she uses to keep them away from her when she really needs to.

Neither requires me to have an overabundance of muscle, nor to get so close as they can touch me too; perfect for someone trying not to die but doesn’t have the strength to run.

Background

Anastasia was born to a high class family as the second daughter and the youngest of five children, with her three older brothers constantly causing trouble and her sister nearly fifteen years her senior. They lived in Venice, Italy for a long while, her parents having moved here for her father’s job as an artist and her mothers’ love of photography, in a modestly sized home with two floors and a small yard where the girls kept a garden. Anna was a strange child, she never cried and she didn’t speak, at least not until her sister had moved away to marry a posh boy in London whom had come calling after his homestay and educational exchange on the island; she never grew to know her sister well and most of her brothers were gone in similar ways before the three moved to America, the next stop on an endless train of moves.
They settled in a small town in South Dakota, living there until Anastasia reached the age of seven, a year and a half since they moved there and on to New York then Vegas and finally they stopped in Atlanta. Because of how often they had moved around, the girl found her friends in works of fiction and the text books at school where she would spend hours reading. Her parents learned she had an eidetic memory when she was nine and had recalled something she’d seen when she was only three years old – a pony on their property, described in picture perfect details. This was the purpose for their move to Atlanta where she attended none but the best schools and found herself in random university lectures simply because she left like it.
Where most kids would have complained about being forced into greatness, she embraced her own mind and began to learn everything she possibly could, from old text books to newspapers dating back all the way to the sixties, lyrics to songs her mother had listened to and dictionaries. She quickly became fluent in any language she tried to learn and was well on her way to becoming a linguist and translator when the accident happened. She was sixteen, beginning to grow into her mothers’ beauty when they picked her up from school one day and were hit head on by a large truck speeding down the street on the wrong side of the road. Her parents died instantly, but Anastasia, in the back seat of the car, miraculously survived the accident. It had crushed her leg and her heart so wake up six months later without a single familiar face around her. They’d called all of her siblings and none had come and it was even worse to learn that her parents had perished from a complete stranger. They had left her with enough money to live off of until she died, but what she needed was love and someone to talk to; she didn’t speak again for two years after the accident. After another few months her brother showed up at the hospital, alone and with only two bags of luggage, ready to take her home he said though she never understood why it was he who had come. James had spent little to no time with her at all, having been absorbed in studies of his own while he reached to become a great scientist to find a cure for anything he could – he was working on the biological weapons team without knowing, they were feeding off his research into various diseases.
Even though she didn’t talk for that long while, she wrote and they would learn together, helping her find her love of knowledge again until her leg was mostly better, a new metal knee cap helping her walk and a couple screws in her leg, though regardless she still walked with a limp and a terrible scar running all the way down either side of her leg led her to never wear the dresses her and her mother had bought again.
During a time when the infected were rising up, taking over and the military had yet to arrive, she was at the library picking out books for her next study project when the police officers had started to bring people inside, away from a group of approaching infected where they could hopefully protect them from the danger. It was a bloody fight and Anastasia saw enough of it that she spoke again, even if it was just a wordless scream and almost silent prayer for her mother and James. With the ensuing chaos almost none of the infect saw her make a dash for the stairs, crimpled and weak the thing grabbed onto her bad leg and sent a jolt of hot pain up her leg, causing her to fall onto the stairs and nearly drop the book she’d been holding. She kicked widely until the grip on her ankle loosened and scrambled up the stairs as best as she could, finding her way through the door and toward a bookshelf to hide behind. She managed to get that far before she doubled over for breath, fighting an asthma attack while it rounded the corner, looking for her. She swung without thinking, the large hardcover volume connecting with its head and causing its death.
By the time everything was done and she couldn’t hear anymore sounds, Anastasia had locked herself in one of the upper floor closets and silently cried herself out of panic. The salt of her tears, the metallic taste of her blood on her tongue, the sound of the dying she could still here; it was such a profound moment of realization that she was allowing so many to die without doing a thing about it that she would never forget hiding in that closet waiting for her brother to come save her again. When the door opened and the silhouette of a man stood outside she spoke, really, for the first time in two years."James?"She had hoped, beyond hope, that her brother had somehow come to find her; he was the only person she'd ever really spoken to, even before she had left Venice with their parents when he had been living and studying abroad with their eldest brother, Isaac. It was disappointing to her to see that it wasn't her brother, instead it was the history professor she'd seen earlier that day. He'd survived, somehow, just like her. Over the course of the next two months he had helped her come out of that shell again and speak, while they had gotten closer and fortified their little space and tried to survive.
Anastasia knew though, that this little room would not last forever.​

More options

Allergies: Dust and grass.
Scars/Tattoos: His left hand is completely covered in burn scars. They are the result of mishandling a molotov cocktail that he intended to use to burn down a fire station. Old Injuries: Multiple concussions have left him mentally unstable.

Skills:
Sergeis hobby is living off the grid. He learned several skills that have kept him alive.
-Wilderness survival. He is particularly adept at surviving in forested areas and snowy climates.
-Scavenger.
-Great at hunting.
-Excellent at making traps.
-Fluent in Russian.Equipment:
Weapons: Mosin Nagant rifle x3 clips (24 rounds), kukri.
Carried in backpack: Fire starter, flashlight, binoculars, duct tape and 2 road flares.
Food: Box of hardtack, can of peas, 2 MREs and a broken water-filter.

Personality: Sergei is very upbeat and helpful despite the z-pocalypse. If you ask him he'll say it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. He is often quite reckless and eccentric due to his mental injuries. He is also prone to psychotic episodes. They usually happen when he is angered or stress beyond belief. During an episode he usually finds the largest structure in the area and finds a way to light it on fire. Biography: Sergei is a russian immigrant to the U.S. He came to America just 2 years before the outbreak. He was living in a small town in Kentucky when things went to shit. The town was overwhelmed by refugees fleeing the city, and soon the infected followed. He shut himself inside his home out of fear. It was only days before the entire town collapsed.
Sergei packed up what he could and left town. On his way out his vehicle was overturned in a collision with a deer. (Concussion #1) He walked the rest of the way deep into the forest. He set up camp for awhile before the infected from the town started spreading out. He headed south towards Florida and was careful not trust anyone. He stuck to the woods so bandits were a rare challenge. He endured several injuries due to adverse weather conditions. After his fourth time hitting his head he settled down in a large secluded wooded area. His mind had gone without treatment for its injuries and secluding himself was making it worse.
He shut himself in and hunkered down in a makeshift camp. He didn't know how long he would stay there, but it seemed the only other thing he could do was die. He looted the surrounding areas for whatever supplies were left. He hunted for food and built himself a small mud hut shelter. All in isolation with only his thoughts to accompany him. He got crazier by the week. Occasionally, he had to dispatch wandering infected. He did so with great violence. Most of the surrounding area was burned down in his fits of rage. Until one day, a small group of survivors wandered into his "territory". He saved one from a zombie. They were looking for a safe place. He was inclined to go with them. Most of the wildlife in the area had cleared out as zombie activity increased. So he decided to go with them.

Extras: He is a serial arsonist. Most large buildings he comes across have a habit of going down in smoke.

"Humanity faces the greatest threat in the history of our species. This virus seems to amplify all of the worst traits of the human being, turning its victims into savage killers. To defeat it, we will need to amplify all of our best traits. From the window of my spacecraft, I do not see any nations, any borders, any races, any religions or philosophies. All I see is my people--all people of all nations, fighting for life. All I see is my home."

Equipment:QSZ-92 service pistol with two nine-round clips, survival knife, personal emergency radio beacon, smoke generator, signal rocket, flash light, dye marker, mirror, compass, life raft, shark repellent [works on zombies? GM's option], lighter, first aid kit, and a liter bottle of emergency water (these are the contents of her Shenzhou capsule's emergency kit; see bio). Aboard or attached to her capsule (she may not be able to take these with her): space suit, seat padding and straps, kevlar safety tethers with carabiners (two 3-meter, 1 50-meter), 1500 square feet of parachute silk with cordage.

Personality: Xiaxia is extremely hopeful and optimistic, convinced that a bright future is possible with enough determination and hard work. She is innocent, arguably even naive, when it comes to politics and the darker side of human nature. She loves science, technology, and especially flight. Before the Virus, she dreamed of being the first woman on Mars.

Biography: Xiaxia was born in Shenzhen, China to peasant parents who had migrated there from a poor farming village in the countryside. They both worked long hours under miserable conditions to give their only daughter a shot at a decent life. From an early age, Xiaxia did her best to make them proud, excelling in school. She loved airplanes from the moment she understood what one was, and dreamed of learning to fly. For her twelfth birthday, her parents bought her a cheap computer they'd been saving up for, and a pirated edition of Microsoft Flight Simulator. Xiaxia poured herself into the game, eager to learn how to fly under the most realistic settings. As soon as she was old enough, she worked after-school jobs and saved money for flight school. Unable to afford a real flight school, she took an online correspondence course that covered the "ground school" subjects. After graduating from high school a year early, Xiaxia joined the Chinese military and went into the People's Liberation Army Air Force. She passed pilot aptitude tests with flying colors, and was accepted for officer candidate school and flight training. Upon graduation, she became one of a few female fighter pilots in China's air force.

After a year in the cockpit, she applied to become a yuhangyuan, a Chinese astronaut. A month and a half before Z-Day, Xiaxia was launched into space for the second time, on a mission to test if centrifugal "gravity" could be used to maintain bone and muscle mass on long-term space voyages. When the Virus struck, she used the communication systems of her ship to gather and re-transmit useful information to try to help humanity defeat the zombies, along with her best efforts at encouraging and inspiring speeches. By the time her oxygen supplies started running low, the zombies had all but conquered humanity. Xiaxia had no choice but to return from orbit and join the survivors' struggle. She hopes to find survivors, build a sanctuary, preserve as much of humanity's knowledge as possible, and start rebuilding civilization.

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

Guys, I just wanted to let you all know - considering the influx and unrealistic circumstances - that I will not be accepting military personnel at all. I have my reasons, and if you really want to know you may PM me. If you believe it is unfair, then you can kindly either try to convince me otherwise, or you can leave.

On another note, I will only be accepting one more female character for now. I would like a balance that allows for more males in the group. Don't forget children and...

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

Spoiler(Move your mouse to the spoiler area to reveal the content)Show SpoilerHide Spoiler

​

„The present is more abominable than the future – No one”

Name: Maria Strokvna
Age: 28
Sex: Female
Sexual Orientation:

Allergies: Cats, milk
Scars/Tattoos: Her right part of the face was damaged in a fire started accidentally by her in the lab. Blind with the right eye and an ugly scar on her face, Maria wears a gas mask to cover it. Her upper torso and the lower part of he right leg is covered in scars, the skin is burnt, with an unpleasant sight. Her only tattoo is a queen crown on the middle finger of her left hand.
Old Injuries: The scar she got from the fire effects in a way or another her behavior. Her left forearm is injured from an old knife wound, Maria can’t carry or hold heavy compartments, so at times she might appear as a snobbish and picky person. Her fingers are looking awfully damaged, because of the chemicals and the use of the bow, at times she can barely hold the spoon.

Skills:
- Chemistry: Maria is the Head of Department of Chemists. So knowing chemistry can be a skill, since time,hard-work and passion was added to it.
- Dealing with stress, trauma and the loss of someone dear: You truly have to be the Ice Woman to don't feel anything, but with patience and time, mostly with time, you can acquire new skills
- Thinking out of the box: At time, her mad genius can shine in the most unexpected places.
- Archery: Archery might by the only way of protecting herself against zombies. Timothy taught her some tricks in order to survive since she left „The three stars” house
Equipment:
- A bow: a metallic bow which is heavy as a feather, with sharp edges, A long bow, blending the structure of a Japanese traditional bow . Reaching 1,35 m, carved with the pictures of her mythological creature of her natal country, Russia.
- First Aid-Kit
- Her little own kit: the kit contains various chemicals she use, pots, glasses, gloves, papper, pencils.
- Candies
- Arrows: usually the arrows are hand-made, she rarely uses the arrows, since the bow is more like the weapon she use.
- She is spotted as a tall person, wearing a gas mask, dark blue boots, a pair of black jeans with a dirty white shirt stained with blood and dirt, a grey jacket and a necklace with a cross as a luck charm. She has some extra shirts and blouses, medicaments for cold, some pain killers and a compass.
- Has some canned food and maybe one or two bottles of water

Personality: Before the zombies, she was quite the girl that you would enjoy a coffee and a small talk. From nature, Maria is a person more of actions rather than words, calculated most of the times, with a hint of a sweet irony and mockery. Born in an orphanage in New York named „The three stars” she doesn't outstand very much, doesn't talk or have any sort of interaction with people. At times, it might be hard to take the words out of the mouth. In her first years of life in that house, Maria grew with books, love story books, with vampires, werewolves, sparkling creatures, zombies and any sort of romance that the human might can figure out. She has a thing for her belongings, hates the idea of people touching her belongings, especially her chemicals, Maria is ready to burn you down for touching her belongings. He ego used to be pretty big, since she used to have a pretty face, after the fire her self-esteem took a ride down the road, any sort of reflection makes her flinch and have a panic attack. For her, she is a monster, an ugly monster with an ugly personality. After things turned ugly with the zombies, Maria isolated herself from any human contact for a short period of time, literally she started to go crazy, paranoid. She started her journey with suicidal thoughts, but later she found people, people with hearts, beating ones, and ideals, ideas, thoughts.
Maria will be often seen talking with maxim 2 people, if the number starts to grow, she slowly back’s off and leave it. Since she considers that her strength is not necessary, Maria avoids going on ‚explorations’ with others. She likes or rather loves to plan things, to know for sure what will happen in the near future, to know for her own culture, to discover things, but with the limited resources, is a little hard for her.

Biography: Born in Russia, with her grandparents, Maria was a happy child who was blessed with a great childhood. Her six years of life went beautifully, with kids around her age, with the cookies that her grandmother prepared for her, with the bedtime stories and all the fun and joy. After getting ill, they were forced to send Maria to America, New York to a cousin. After a 1 year in America she was sent to the orphanage, there Maria met her first love, Timothy. A Ukranian boy, slender and rather sick, with big and beautiful eyes and silky hair. She loved his hair, it had that chestnut color and with those blue eyes, well, she reminds them as a blue color. Timothy loved chemistry and slowly Maria started to like it as well. As years passed and she was the best in her class, Maria was in the first year of high school. Oh my, and Timothy, was a boy, every girl stared at him and Maria, she madly in love and proud about it. „Please Timothy, help me !” She plead to him with puppy eyes, her bewitching eyes stared into his and asked, no, they beg for help. „I just… I can’t say no. Of course ” He looked at her with a genuine smile. The project was difficult, all the material were gathered and placed in a 60-page essay, now they only had to prove it. Both of them made an improvised laboratory in the basement of the orphanage, as they were working, Maria mixed wrong two chemicals, smoke, watery eyes and a flame. Were enough for the basement to make a loud sound and be on fire. Both of them were sent to the hospital, she had minor wounds, but Timothy, Timothy died on the hospital bed because of the 3-grade burns. She isolated herself from the world into her work, became the best, named the Head of Department of Chemists, she traveled around America a lot. At times, she even forgets where she is, but it is ok, her scars remind her of a mistake she made, for her, he will always be alive in her memory, in what he taught her, in everything.

Extra​

In reality Maria wants to have a lovely-dovely sweet and romantic experience with a boy … well bad luck

Hates thunders and lightnings

Her heart melts when she see true act of kindness

Inside, deep inside, Maria dreams to meet that man that will swear loyalty toward her and that he will protect her (wants to find love)

Timothy is the only boy she kissed on the cheeks

She is ready to kill herself for a greater good

Hates people that act all mighty without a trace of a true leader

Has a thing for strong alcohol

If you know how to talk to her and the way you behave toward her, Maria is pretty much loyal, even if she doesn't look like that.

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

@Satan's Mistress
Awesome! Good to know you're still interested hun. Let me know if you have any questions about anything; full understanding is the only way we'll be able to come to conclusions without anyone getting upset.

@TheSignWriter
Indeed there is still room, my friend. I hope you are still interested; we would welcome anything you have to put toward the group.

@The Classy Mog
Indeed it is up now if you still want to join. We're looking for more male characters as well so no worries there. Angel knows we're in need of them! :)

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses

My Usual Online Time:

Whenever I feel like it

Writing Levels:

Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Female, Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

I normally enjoy the story more if it's both of us directing it though I don't mind following - surprises are always fun - as long as they don't mind me asking questions sometimes. When I'm passionate I get aggressive

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